


A Lonely Vampire and A Happy Painter

by Parspicle



Category: Undertale (Video Game), Undertale AUs - Fandom
Genre: A vampire au that's less homophobic!, Accents, Error gets abandonment issues, Ink's horny for vampires, M/M, The castle moves, Vampire AU, and also family issues, hand kissing, just a lotta issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parspicle/pseuds/Parspicle
Summary: A castle, old and broken, shelters a lonely vampire. A young, agile artist goes in.





	A Lonely Vampire and A Happy Painter

Ink strode through the cheery forest, trying to find _anything_ to draw. Sure, the trees were pretty, but painting the same trees over and over got really, really boring after a while.

Eventually, when he wasn’t looking, he marched facefirst into a rough, cold wall. He fell onto the long emerald sea of grass.

“What…?”

Ink stood up and walk away to see what he bumped into. He had to run briskly a little bit, hoping not to spill all his art stuff, to see the full, noble building.

“Wow." Ink's eyebrows shot up. 

The castle he ran into was _enormous._ It towered over Ink, as well as the rest of the vast, fantasy-like forest. The walls were falling down. The metal was rusty. Everything looked… old. Broken. Decayed. 

It was _breathtaking._

Oddly enough, it looked as if it hadn’t been disturbed in eons. As if nobody had entered- or left- since it was built so many long years ago. At the same time, it looked like it had been falling apart since the moment it was made.

That wasn’t the only odd thing that the little enthusiastic didn’t stop to think about.

In fact, the castle ~~stood~~ slouched so tall that he _should_ have seen it before running into it.

Oh well. It couldn’t be helped.

Ink walked into the ancient, grim castle.

~~~~

* * *

Error walked silently through the cold, empty, lonely halls. It was just like any normal day. Well, night, maybe? He couldn’t tell. Thanks to whatever curse this castle had, it was always night.

Error walked by a window. He glanced outside to the melancholy, gloomy forest. There was a person.

He continued on.

_Wait, a person?!_

Error ran back to the window.

A short, confident-looking man was staring up at the castle. Of course, he probably looked shorter than he was due to the castle's height.

_Shit, shit, don’t let him see you!_

Error escaped behind the wall, still peering outside.

He had feathery, soft-looking hair. His cheeks were stained with paint. His pasty neck, mostly hidden by his scarf, was tangled by elaborate, ornate designs that Error couldn't exactly make out. His skin had splotches of a lighter complexion. Error was fascinated by the guy’s layered, loose clothing. The sheets of sand and coffee-colored fabric complimented his dashing, glowing smile. The cloth spread like wings as he ran inside looking invested in each and every inch of Error’s poor, broken castle.

Error decided to follow the fellow.

Of course, that didn’t go as intended.

The guy, who Error determined was named “Ink” due to him talking, found a wall he liked. The least broken one in the castle. The one that surrounded Error’s bedroom. He liked to think out loud. A lot. He spoke his thoughts almost the entire time he was there. Ink put his bag, which clinked, onto the floor. He sat down and opened the bag, revealing a whole ton of art supplies.

Suddenly, one of the bricks of the wall slipped out of place and almost hit Ink, who was opening a jar of paint.

Ink yelled in French, “Okay, _maybe_ not this wall, Ink!”

Though, Error’s French _was_ a little rusty, so he might’ve gotten a couple of words wrong. But his name was Ink, if he was talking to himself.

Ink roamed away. And towards Error. Which was the way he had appeared from.

Error very quickly wrapped himself in the shadows as the guy sped by. He halted right in front of Error’s hiding spot.

“Wait. I was going the other way, wasn’t I?”

Error whispered, “yes,” kind of desperately.

Ink didn’t seem to notice. Or hear. 

“Well, the universe isn’t giving me a no, so! I’m turning! Wait, why am I talking to myself?”

Ink shrugged again and turned. He sped up the pace when he went by the wall which came to life right in front of his eyes.

Error melted out of the shadows, trying to steady his undead heart.

“Oh, whoops! Almost forgot these!”

Error hid once more as Ink ran back to grab his stuff. Under his breath, he was humming.

It wasn’t like anything Error had heard. It was light, and… lively. Nothing like the dark, tense stuff he was raised on.

And still listened to from time to time.

Whatever Ink was humming, Error found himself savoring it.

Eventually, Ink got himself to the path into the gardens. The gardens, in the heart of the lonely vampire's home, were the _most_ broken part of the castle. Error himself could barely get in. The entrance was collapsed. There was no way to get _into_ the garden unless you had super-human powers or had deep experience with acrobatics.

Ink, apparently, was one of those two things. He blinked up at the challenge the universe was presenting to him. Then, he climbed over the pile with ease. He gracefully flipped over the top and rolled on the floor, which lessened the impact of the fall.

It was… astounding.

To Error.

Who was also too frightened to go into the gardens to see what Ink was doing.

“What in the world…? This looks like it’s been kept up every day, but… Also, how is it midnight? Wasn’t it just noon?”

Error decided to peek in. Ink was looking around at a perfectly kept, _elegant_ garden. He was murmuring under his breath, looking around again.

Another stone fell. Ink screamed again. He walked back to the entrance, muttering about something or another.

Error hid behind a curtain, hoping it was enough, as Ink jumped over the pile of boulders again. This time, he slipped. And cursed. He stood up, trying to see where he got hurt. He definitely felt _something._

“Aw, _damnit_.”

Ink had rolled up his sleeve and turned down his gloves. His right arm was bleeding. A lot. He just sorta… shrugged, put his clothes back where they were, and moved on.

Error’s eyes widened. How could he just… let the wound be? It looked rather serious, and he was in an area that was _very_ prone to bacteria. Which meant his cut had a good chance of getting infected. How could humans be so unwise and careless with their bodies?

Speaking of being reckless with their bodies, Ink had weird marks and swirls all over his arm. Error thought back to what he was taught about humans, and also what his books said.

Tattoos, right? That’s what they were called. He had more on his neck. Why would they do that to their skin? It just… messed up their already weak, tender skin, right? Error shuddered at the pure _thought_ of them messing it up _more_.

After a moment, Error realized he had lost the human to his thoughts. He came out of his hiding spot, very carefully, and looked around. Ink had run down the corridor and _finally_ found a wall he was comfortable with that wasn't sliding apart. Error watched with fascination as Ink took out all his art supplies, smiling and humming. He also brought out a small, black rectangular prism, which had a weird outline. It lit up when Ink pushed a button, and Error had to try not to jump back in shock. He continued to gaze with interest.

How long had it _been_ since he had last seen a human? How much had their technology advanced? I mean, the last time he had seen one, he got introduced to _records_. It had awestruck him. When was that…? A week ago? A month? Error didn’t know. It could have been years, for all he knew.

After all, there wasn’t really any concept of _time_ in Error’s castle. It was always night, and Error never really _needed_ to sleep that often, so…

Error’s attention turned to Ink when his little glowing box started playing the melody he had been humming. A guitar strummed. Hands clapped. Ink started singing along, swaying, as Error tried to figure out this… witchcraft. The humans had learned it from _someone_ , right?

_So scared of breaking it_

_That you won't let it bend_

_And I wrote two hundred letters_

_I will never send_

_Sometimes these cuts are so much_

_Deeper than they seem_

_You'd rather cover up_

_I'd rather let them bleed_

Error was enamored with Ink’s work. His brushes danced across the wall. It was like watching a whole ballroom of dancers in one man's hand. Swirls and twirls seemed to take him over, and he spun around, singing along to the soft but sad song that was disguised with happy tones.

_I am in misery_

_There ain't nobody_

_Who can comfort me_

_Why won't you answer me?_

_The silence is slowly killing me_

~~_Girl_ ~~ _Boy, you really got me bad_

_You really got me bad_

_I'm gonna get you back_

_Gonna get you back!_

Error couldn’t help but notice he sang “boy” very loudly over the singer’s “girl”. He got the tone and note right, but he sang a different word.

Why would he do that? He had sung everything right, except that _one_ word? Humans perplexed him sometimes. They were so… weird. Why bother to change it? It was practically the same.

Why would someone sing something so _overwhelmingly_ sad but try to make it so light?

_It's not that I didn't care_

_It's that I didn't know_

_It's not what I didn't feel,_

_It's what I didn't show_

_So let me be_

_And I'll set you free._

Error continued to be captivated with Ink’s beautiful painting. His eyes stretched a bit when Ink added more and more color to the painting.

* * *

When he was about halfway done and more songs had cycled through, Ink sat back. Error melted back into the shadows, being more careful. Not careful enough, however, because his arm bumped into an elegant deep blue vase. It crashed. Loudly.

Ink blinked and looked over to the once-vase. He walked to it and inspected the pieces.

“What a waste… I wonder if I could put it back together? Is it considered stealing if it’s abandoned?”

Error tried to sink lower into the shadows. It wasn’t working. His powers were limited, after all. Hopefully, he was still unable to be seen, as his powers worked, but after the _last_ human, he didn’t want to take any chances. He opened an eye a little, looking at the guy.

His eyes sparkled with curiosity and care. He had a little ring sticking through his lip, and two similar ones for his ears. The tattoos crawled almost all the way to his neck.

Ink picked up the pieces and put them back on the pedestal.

“I guess I’ll just… leave this here? But… how did it…?”

Ink looked closer around his surroundings. Error tried to shrink back more. He closed both eyes once more.

The stranger shrugged it off. He returned to the painting and sighed, laying down on the floor.

“Whatever. It’s too late for this anyway. I’m gonna sleep.”

The brick thing that had been playing the music buzzed. Ink looked over, scowling.

“Damnit. The fuck does he want now?”

He picked it up and looked at it. He groaned. It buzzed again. Then again. It buzzed for a few seconds. He picked it up and put it to his ear.

“The fuck do you want, Dust?”

Error heard more noise coming from the block. It sounded… aggravated. Ink sounded _just_ as enraged as he yelled into the device.

What was this _magic?_ How’d humans figure out how to use magic without getting everyone around them killed? Did they finally come to their senses and stop trying to destroy themselves?

Eventually, Ink tossed the thing away. He screamed in frustration. He laid back down on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm himself. He sighed and groaned, “Oh, Ink, what have you gotten yourself into, you fool?”

Error watched still. He came out of the shadows, silently walking towards him, not being discovered. Ink fell asleep, leaving his tools and paints all strewn about.

Humans are such fools. They, when taught how to use magic, burned the people who used it. They burned people who weren’t normal.

After all their ridiculousness, Error somehow… found it in his heart to help the person who had wandered on into his castle.

Just because all humans were senseless and foolhardy didn’t mean they were all inherently evil.

Right…?

* * *

Ink woke up on a soft, comfortable bed. His neck hurt, slightly, which he found weird. He blinked, looking around. It didn’t look like he was in the same place. Tapestries, somehow seemingly kept up for years, hung on the walls. Intricate designs pranced gracefully across the fabric. The curtains were closed. Candles were lit. One was right below a tapestry, flames licking the fabric.

Somehow, it wasn’t burning.

How peculiar…

“Wait, how the hell did I get here?!”

Ink sat up.

“Oh, god, nope.”

He took a second to make his head _not_ hurt.

He took another look around the room. It was dark, obviously, but still somehow homey. It was… nice. After looking again, it was, for sure, the same castle. The way the tapestries were woven matched the one Ink had seen in the entrance, so, logically, it was either the same place or made by the same person.

Ink took a second to look at himself. Everything seemed in order, except…

His glove and sleeve had been removed from his right arm. The cut he had from climbing over the garden’s wall was disinfected and wrapped in cloth. Whoever had fixed it had obviously had practice. They were obviously very skilled.

“What in the world…?”

Something clattered to the floor.

“Who’s there?!”

Nobody answered.

Ink got out of the bed.

“I’m not staying here. Come on, Ink, think!”

Ink ran through the halls, trying to remember where the hell he was before he got put in a bedroom.

“Where the hell is my stuff? I painted a mural, right? It’s probably there.”

Ink ran faster.

Error still followed him slowly.

He finally found the mural. It was still incomplete. He sighed and looked at it.

“It’s not that bad.”

Ink noticed the paints, brushes, and painting knives were all lined up in rainbow order in front of the in-progress piece.

He definitely didn’t leave it that way when he fell asleep.

“Wait, where’s my phone?! Oh, right there.”

It was right where he had thrown it. He picked it up.

“God. Why won’t he ever shut up?”

He put it back in his pocket.

“Where was I…?”

Behind Ink’s back, a brick slid back into place. Ink turned.

“What…?”

Ink walked closer to the wall. Another brick floated up and slid back into place. Ink stared. Another brick slid back into place. Ink screamed.

“How the hell!?”

Ink fell back and scooted away. Right into someone’s legs. Ink slowly gazed up.

A handsome, young-looking guy stared down. He met strange, tired eyes. He had deep ruby scleras, golden irises, and cobalt pupils. They shone like jewels. Sharp jewels. Sorta like they were trying to cut him. How'd Ink remember all of those eye terminologies and not any of his friends' birthdays? 

They were _beautiful._

“Woah…”

“Uh, hello…”

The man had a deep, quiet voice. He had a strong Scottish accent that complemented his strong but haggard face. A face with a pretty nose, intelligent but lost eyes, and… long, sharp white fangs.

Ink realized he was staring with wide eyes. Especially when he got to the fierce, merciless fangs.

_Shit. shit. shit. He has fangs. Fuck. He’s hot. And he has fangs. Damnit, damnit, fuck, he’s wonderful. I want to marry him. Or have him step on me. Both!_

Ink’s mind raced. He finally decided to speak after staring at the man for a minute. He was… incredibly attracted to him.

“Uh, heya!!”

The strange man, who Ink now realized was dressed sort of victorian-like, all black, and kinda like _all_ the fantasy, olden-times vampires.

He offered Ink his hand. Ink slid his own hand into the stranger’s. He lifted the artist off the floor seemingly effortlessly. The man bent at the waist, gracefully, and kissed Ink’s hand gently. The intense heat on Ink’s neck threatened to spill out onto his face.

_Oh god, he’s so fucking perfect._


End file.
